<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>waitin' for your touch by peterspajamas</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042875">waitin' for your touch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterspajamas/pseuds/peterspajamas'>peterspajamas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>!!!, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, First Christmas, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Steve Rogers is soft, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is Soft, Tumblr Prompt, anyway it's really just fluff, playful relationship, they're very soft for each other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:48:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,606</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042875</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterspajamas/pseuds/peterspajamas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wrapping presents?” It was childish to shake around presents to figure out what was inside. It was. It was so childish, in fact, that it might even be… on brand. Tony drifted towards the tree, but silently, Steve grabbed his arm and held him in place. “That one looks like a toolkit, Steve, did you buy me a toolkit?” </p><p>Steve flushed. “I didn’t buy you anything.” </p><p>Tony held in his laughter. “Yes, yes, of course. That’s why I can count five gifts under that tree addressed to me, from you?” </p><p>“You aren’t counting anything-” And Steve pulled him in for a kiss, tilting Tony’s chin up to meet familiar lips. </p><p> </p><p>or:<br/>Steve finds a ton of vintage ornaments at his favorite antiques shop and Tony plays along!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>waitin' for your touch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this was a tumblr prompt!! yay! if you want to go on there I am go by <a href="https://jean-and-diet-coke.tumblr.com/"> jean-and-diet-coke </a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Steve!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tony!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The reply came from somewhere inside the giant maze of their penthouse. Tony peered around the corner into the main living room. Not there… Kitchen? He scanned the kitchen, eyes glancing over the clean appliances. Who had cleaned up? Tony snorted- certainly not him or Steve, they were officially off work for the next five days, barring any major Avengers disasters. Squinting through the frosted glass windows showing a glimpse of the dining room, he decided Steve probably wasn’t in there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve was a notorious cactus about being rich. It prickled him. So he stayed out of the formal living room and the dining room unless they were hosting a formal event. “Steve, honey, where are you?” Tony called, turning back to the staircase.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You idiot.” The reply came from behind him and Steve jogged down the hallway, catching Tony in a quick kiss. “Why are you looking here?” he laughed. Tony raised his eyebrows, watching the crinkle of Steve’s lips, the stretch of apple pie cheeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were in here earlier,” Tony defended himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like an hour ago. What’d you need me for?” There were new presents under the tree; Tony eyed them with interest. </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrapping presents?” It was childish to shake around presents to figure out what was inside. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was so childish, in fact, that it might even be… on brand. Tony drifted towards the tree, but silently, Steve grabbed his arm and held him in place. “That one looks like a toolkit, Steve, did you buy me a toolkit?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve flushed. “I didn’t buy you anything.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony held in his laughter. “Yes, yes, of course. That’s why I can count five gifts under that tree addressed to me, from you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t counting anything-” And Steve pulled him in for a kiss, tilting Tony’s chin up to meet familiar lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe your freckles,” Tony whispered back, bumping noses. Steve blushed harder, staring away at the walls. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hilarious. Tony needed to flirt more often, he was off his game. Apparently seven months had turned him into a </span>
  <em>
    <span>sap</span>
  </em>
  <span>, into a puttering, domestic kind of man. Absolutely awful. Look at that, he couldn’t stop smiling. “Guess what I found at the antiques store?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The one in Brooklyn?” A lady a few years younger than Steve ran it with her children. He had known her- or her mother, Tony wasn’t sure. Steve talked about his sepia past, colored with the smiles of old friends and what seemed to be a beautiful community. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and- I’ll show you, Tony, they’re great.” Steve walked past him, smiling sunnily out the window. Snow was falling in New York, but not sticking. Flurries up on top of the world, here in their home were just as nice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hit me with it. Babe,” he added. From behind, Steve’s neck turned red. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A large bag stood on their coffee table. “These.” Steve turned around, ornaments hanging from his fingers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow.” They looked old. Vintage. Tony sat cross legged on the couch. “How old are they?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She said some of them are from as far back as the 60s,” Steve said. He was terribly pleased with himself. “Come on, Tony, give me something!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good job, I’m proud of you,” Tony replied dryly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Apple pie cheeks twisted into a look of contempt. “Are you angry I didn’t take you with, honey? I know you love nothing more than ornament shopping.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No I don’t.” Absently, he unbuttoned his jacket, stripping down to the button down and sweatpants that had worked well for the long distance conference call earlier. “You’re a liar, Mr. Rogers.” He peeked into the box. They </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> look good. Incredibly delicate, tiny swirls of glass and some tarnished shine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You like it, right?” Steve’s set his hand on Tony’s back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Looks great, babe,” Tony said, smiling cheekily when a lightning quick hand snaked around to pull him into a kiss. December- what a great fucking month. Nothing made the both of them more affectionate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony had gotten 10 and a half kisses today. An excellent record. Not as good as his birthday kisses when he turned 45. “Want to put them up?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, baby,” Tony replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay- stop that. Stop that, with the silly pet names. You know which ones I like.” Tony snorted shamelessly. Steve had a penchant for the gooey soft ones; Tony Stark was not gooey soft. He could, however, manage something that teenaged girls called their boyfriends when they were in the honeymoon phase. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll stop it with the names if you stop your ornament hunting without me.” He lifted a ballerina and an angel out of the box, each of them delicate porcelain and ancient fabric. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did a good job, though, right?” Tony rolled his eyes and nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did great, sweetums, keep up the great work!” Tony cheered sarcastically.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their tree was real, apparently that was something couples did, and it had a bunch of ornaments Clint got at a yard sale, three- </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span>- Nat pilfered from a Russian friend of hers, and Tony’s impressive collection. Thank fuck for cathedral ceilings. “Which one do you like?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ballerina.” Tony had plans to take Steve out to see the Nutcracker tomorrow, so they’d probably get another one. “She’s very pretty. I never expected you to have taste, Steve.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Say that again and I’ll throttle you,” Steve murmured. Stifling another laugh, Tony found one buried at the bottom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You picked all these by hand?” Steve nodded wordlessly, more focused on wiping down the pink glass ball with snowflakes inside. Huh. Slowly, Tony studied the ornament. </span>
  <em>
    <span>First Christmas</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it read, little silver bells and a sprig of painted mistletoe on a picture frame. He leaned back, staring at the tree. Noble fir, strung with colored and white lights, just for fun, covered top to bottom with their mismatched ornaments. For all of the collection Tony had, there were very few with pictures inside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go see if I have a photo for this one, Steve,” Tony told him. Steve turned sharply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tony held up the ornament, eyebrows raised. “Shit, you weren’t supposed to see that one!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t?” Tony preened. He was the best secret discoverer ever, everyone knew it. He had all the presents under the tree pegged. “Well, you know you can’t hide anything from me,” he said loftily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know which picture, though, just- just let me get it.” Steve ran off to who knew where, he was a mystery, Tony’s super soldier. A bit of sunlight streamed in, catching the light of that pink one from earlier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve dominated gift giving. Of all the talents he had, such as research, holding boring team meetings, kissing like he was about to lose his life, and making the bed, the only one Tony remembered, clinging onto the fact like it was his life, was that Steve gave presents like no one else. This was their first Christmas together. Technically, everyone lived in the Tower, a long term superhero sleepover, but hell, Steve had moved in a month ago and Tony was reluctantly excited to spend it with him. (reluctantly. Ha! He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>thrilled</span>
  </em>
  <span>.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Got it,” Steve breathed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lemme see.” Tony grabbed it, looking over it with discerning eyes. “Is an ornament a normal Christmas present for your live in boyfriend?” he asked, casually smiling at the photo. On the outside, he was full Tony Stark, but on the inside he was sap, like the kind that lived on trees and stuck with you. Melting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obviously, he had to hide it- or, or, wait. He always forgot, but Steve was his boyfriend. Steve </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see Tony go gaga for him. “What do you think?” </span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tony beamed at him, eyes bright. “I love it,” he whispered, threading his arms around Steve’s neck and leaning up. “That picture makes me want to make you cookies and take you to bed.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve snorted into his ear, but Tony would bet money on the fact that he was blushing. “So can we put it on the tree?” Steve confirmed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Affirmative, Cap.” Steve bounded over to the lit tree, putting the little frame in place of pride on a very visible bough. “I approve!” Tony called, turning around and drinking a bit of the eggnog- non-alcoholic, and surprisingly nice- Steve had brought out for himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s one of my favorite pictures of you,” Steve added, collapsing on the couch next to Tony and tucking him in under one overly large, cartoonish, unrealistic standards bicep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a good one. It was, you know, it was a nice day.” The picture in question was a little ridiculous, but it had Tony in sunglasses and Steve in a loose t-shirt, sipping coke. The smile Tony was using on Steve was borderline obscene, it should be impossible to act like you loved someone that much. But Tony, he did. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bucky helped me pick it out. He says it’s his favorite picture of you,” Steve added, drinking the eggnog. Tony unbuttoned another button, sighing softly in contentment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course it is, it has you in it. You’re his ride or die, Captain Hottie, you know this.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve laughed, the rumbling noise reverberating through his chest, where Tony was leaning. “Captain Hottie, that’s a new one,” he chuckled. “And I think it’s the way you look in it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell him he’s going blind in his old age,” Tony muttered, pressing a light kiss to Steve’s side. “And when he comes up here- one of ‘em comes up here- get me some cookies.” A slow hand moved to Tony’s head, working through the locks. It was ungelled and loose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve’s fingers felt nice.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>comment and kudos if you liked!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>